


Human Error

by Glossolalia



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action, Blood and Violence, Boys In Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heartbreak, I'm Sorry, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oneshot, PTSD REACTION, Pain, Possession, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unintended Abuse, Unrequited Love, Vomiting, What Have I Done, i'm dead inside
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:38:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8678890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glossolalia/pseuds/Glossolalia
Summary: “I could hurt you.”“You would never hurt me.”“You don’t know that.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in two hours. Forgive the errors and failures. I'm relieved to write something like this again, though.
> 
> Listen to [this](https://youtu.be/yVmZmQChVj4?t=1m27s) while reading because it's what got me through it so fast.

" _I could hurt you."_

" _You would never hurt me."_

" _You don't know that."_

" _I know what you're capable of."_

" _No. You don't because—"_

— _because even I don't, Keith._

Two pairs of boots swiftly rapped across the cornflower blue floors of one of Castle Lion's vacant training decks. Above, sterile light hung over the figures and wildly contrasted the impersonated nighttime lingering outside the exit doors, but below, long shadows stalked their unceasing footwork. Accompanying the steps was breathless gasping that followed winding paths along an emptied arena. No fellow Paladins, no cyborg gladiator darting between them in hopes of sending them both through the floor and into the Shame Room.

It was just them.

This was a rarity in itself and something Shiro pretended not to miss. Even so, he knew how to play a fair game and knew he _had_ to play a fair game. Any time overspent outside his post created grounds for blame he couldn't bring himself to muscle through.

He was the first to speak, words scraped raw from exertion. "Since when do you go on the defensive, Keith?"

"Since you got your Bayard back," Keith said and hop-stepped backward before shoving back sweat-matted bangs. He spun his sword with an expert coil of his wrist, and his next words were bitten by a smile. "Since you added an additional fifty percent to your muscle mass."

"That's an exaggeration."

"Is it?"

Shiro paused, thought and then smiled. "I think so. Maybe."

Keith's eyes darted toward the curved black sword with its climbing purple accent. Its magenta glow pulsated, and Shiro shifted his head to break Keith's gaze and nudge him into eye contact. Keith's thoughtful gaze departed and stern concentration took its place. He wordlessly lifted his free hand and willed his shield to materialize, prompting Shiro to right himself. Keith barreled forward with an unprecedented amount of speed.

The swiftness and flung forward torso made one of Shiro's brows creep toward his hairline both as an expression of impressiveness and amusement, but he didn't let it distract. A familiar click spurred from his bionic arm, and Shiro flung it stiff and into an offensive position directly after. There was the euphoric punch of Galra energy that followed, and in ambidextrous form, Shiro drew back his Bayard, then using the lethal blade to shield Keith's oncoming attack.

"That's too direct!" Shiro chastised. "You can't rush an enemy head on. Not the Galra. Remember what happened with Zarkon."

His words were promptly ignored.

Keith hunted for an opening and artfully flung himself around with form that was in direct opposition to his brutish typicality. Instead of seeking blade-to-blade contact, Keith's spin sent him to his knees. Twisted low and bent, the red blade pushed upward, beneath Shiro's defensive stance with the Bayard, and found space behind the black blade and his arm. A metallic ring bounced between them, and Keith's blade was pointedly blocked by the Galra arm.

With a pointed shift, Keith's shield lifted over himself as if to block the Black Bayard, but it never fell.

Keith waited, but there was still nothing.

"Don't tell me your going soft," Keith said, words breathy and haggard. "Was it the muscle comment? Look, Shiro. I wasn't complaining—"

With the weight of a star, the Black Bayard cracked down on Keith's shield and knocked the air from Keith's mouth. The instinct to live was immediate. Keith's pupils blew wide, and when the blade drew back, revealing the hairline cracks in the shield's surface, blood drained from his fingertips.

"Shiro," Keith said and watched the blade lift higher, then jerking back his sword that'd nearly been gripped by his bionic digits.

Keith rolled out from beneath the killing blow and promptly lifted his gaze to Shiro's face. He wasn't greeted by the man's pre-lecture stare down. Rather, Shiro's chiseled features were as cold as the marble Keith liked to believe they were carved from. Lips drawn into a thin line, Shiro's eyes swept over Keith like an arctic breeze. A sudden cast of grey tainted the white light.

"Shiro," Keith tried again. He started to he walked backward, shield lowered. "Are you okay?"

The lack of words and lightlessness in Shiro's eyes answered Keith's question. The Red Paladin darted his gaze toward the nearest door, carefully aware of Shiro's slowly approaching form in his peripheral vision. He cleared his throat and knew he could outrun Shiro, but the five seconds it would take to slam his hand against the reader were all Shiro would need to overpower him. Knowing better than to get distracted in his weaker logic and not depend on his seasoned instincts, Keith returned his full awareness to Shiro's oncoming form.

"Can you hear me?" he asked and realized he was afraid to move. It was like being in the presence of an animal too vicious at its core to startle.

Shiro's deadened gaze slowly turned toward the black blade in hand, and he looked it over with discernment. Keith saw the contemplation before the blade unexpectedly disappeared in a hail of glitter. Shiro returned the Bayard's handheld form to the magic compartment and looked back to Keith.

He was unmoved, which kept Keith on his guard. It occurred to Keith that Shiro's arm was in fact a weapon. He had no mind to level the playing field by lowering his sword or shield.

"Is it a spell again?" Keith asked, words wrapped by a coddling tone he'd only ever used with the man in private. It was feathery for his husky tone, words always seemingly scraping along pavement otherwise. His eyes drifted to the illuminated arm and locked. "Talk to me."

Talking wasn't in the cards.

Daringly, Keith took a step toward the man he called his lover and best friend, not realizing his error. It was in Shiro's animalistic nature to switch on and dive toward Keith with all the weight of his incredible mass propelling him. Keith raised his shield to take the oncoming hit, but with a single swipe of the GalraTech, Keith's shield combusted like pressurized glass.

The shards momentarily floated between them like fairy dust. For the slightest moment, they held each other's gaze—mauve meeting black like a storm swept horizon line. Keith's heart leapt for his throat, begging to escape impending death, but he caught said heart in his palms and returned it to his teeth, mashing down and swallowing chunk after chunk.

 _We'll die here,_ the heart whispered.

_We thought we were dead before._

Seeing the opening in Keith's shock, Shiro caught Keith's arm and wordlessly flung him onto the ground with a forward whipping motion that catapulted Keith onto his back. Due to impact, the sword released from Keith's death grip, and the Red Paladin's eyes widened while astonishment settled into his joints. He forced air into his collapsed lungs, but not before Shiro lunged over him. Not even momentarily hovering, Shiro crumpled and found a straddling position.

The sensation of the man's human warmth on top of him once again reminded Keith there were multiple ways to surrender to someone he loved.

Keith flung his arm out for his sword, but it was too far. Eyes grayer than flint stared down at him, and Shiro's jawline was held tight as he dug molars together. The bionic arm shot forward, and Keith flinched as if he were prepared to be struck, but the palm smacked against his Adam's apple instead. There it held, and there it mercilessly clamped down and squeezed.

As a last ditch effort, Keith did the unthinkable and drew back a fist to punch Shiro. His other hand struck the man's muscular thigh, but it stopped when Keith's flying hit was caught. Shiro held his knuckles, but Keith pushed against his grip, suddenly screaming as he dug against the wall of force. He imagined his bones tearing out of his skin from the sheer amount of exertion he was implementing. He didn't want to hurt Shiro, but he had to.

_He'll forgive you._

_But will I forgive him?_

His grip was tossed to the side, and with that momentum, Keith jerked his weight so that he was nearly belly-down. This didn't suit the possessed man's needs, and he effortlessly tossed Keith back into the former position by his neck, further pinning him with the entirety of his weight. With the knowledge he couldn't throw Shiro off, Keith returned to the defensive.

"Takashi," he sputtered and wheezed through the grip on his throat. Keith reached for both sides of Shiro's face and held them. He bore his stare into Shiro's empty one and gently opened his fingers along the man's cheekbones. Shiro's unmoved gaze shook, and Keith fought the oncoming darkness, the reactionary tears that felt like pinpricks in his eyes. "Come back to me. Come back to me. I'm right here. _We're_ right here."

Shiro's grip tightened, and without the slightest warning, pain as white as lightening seared across Keith's neck, bubbling flesh while prayer thought to boil his brain.

Keith rasped on a scream and held Shiro tighter, tugging the man down with all his strength so that their foreheads met. Sweating and digging his nails into Shiro's scalp until blood collected beneath them, he ground his heels into the padded flooring and angrily sobbed behind clenched teeth. He begged to find traction, but there was none to be had.

"You're _hurting_ me."

The proverbial trigger was pulled, and like a shotgun between the eyes, Shiro jolted back – head whipped so that his face looked toward the ceiling. This freed Keith's neck, and Keith ignored the scent of roasted human flesh that then clung to the man's bionic palm. He sucked in air instead of looking to Shiro's recovery. All Keith could think about was his exit, that sudden sprint to door and away from the Black Paladin's alliance with death.

"Oh, God – Keith."

Warbled words, words that dripped into milk like black ink.

Shiro's voice returned him to the present and sucked the smoke from the room. Keith didn't have to tug himself from Shiro's weight. The man did them both the favor by shakily leaning over, both palms firmly landing on the ground. The only part of Shiro that was on top of Keith was his lower half, but Keith didn't have time to toss him off. With a single inhale, Shiro began to violently wretch, a combination of bile and green slime emptying onto the training floor.

With every gag there was a sob.

Keith's neck numbed as he coolly returned his gaze to the overhead lights. Trembling, he reached for Shiro's upper-thighs and let his palms reassuringly rest. His tender grip was there for a minute before he squeezed his eyes shut and tears bounded for freedom; mourning and relief circling the drain together and leaving him emptied and cold. Keith brought his arms over his eyes and parted his lips to silently free his own lamenting cries, not letting himself outright snivel or whimper in hopes the moment wouldn't become real.

He'd been through enough to know this would change everything.

"I don't know what happened," Shiro said, words so mournful, so aware of what he'd slaughtered. "I don't know where I went."

_He hurt me. He hurt me. He hurt me._

_He hurt me. He hurt me. He hurt me._

_He hurt me. He hurt me. He hurt me._

_He hurt me. He hurt me. He hurt me._

"You didn't mean to," Keith said through thick mucus. He couldn't tell who he was trying to convince in that moment. His next words were shrill. "I know you didn't mean to. It's okay."

"It's _not_ okay," he vehemently countered and heaved again, shoulders spiking as he lowered his head to burp up the final contents of his stomach.

After the man was finished being sick with himself, Keith attempted to sit up. Shiro felt this need to escape, and he dragged his legs off of Keith and sat on his feet. With a hard sniffle, Shiro's face fell into his flesh hand, and he continued to violently shake. The robotic arm laid open at his side, unmoving and vacant of the quivers overwhelming its owners central core.

"I should be put down like a dog."

Keith winced at the sentence, and he took a longing look at his sword, but he let that need drift. He cautiously crawled toward Shiro and settled on his knees beside the man, but he couldn't help but to avoid the very hand that had sought to kill him. At Shiro's side, he reached for Shiro's wrist and rallied against his trembling to pushed back the man's bangs with his other hand.

"You're not a dog," Keith said, words laced with anger and more tears. "You're not a dog. You were treated like an abused one. You were just treated like one. You're not a _dog_."

_He hurt me._

"Are you okay?" Shiro asked, not wanting to take any excuses Keith could make for him.

_No._

"I'll be fine."

Shiro dropped his hand from his eyes and was immediately faced with the third degree burns on Keith, the wet, raw flesh that would scar and reside there as a constant reminder, cryopod or not.

"Never forgive me," Shiro said, words always sounding like an order.

"I can forgive human error."

Again, Shiro wouldn't allow Keith to condone his actions. He sucked back his grief in a way Keith knew wouldn't appear human to others, and he unsteadily stood.

"Infirmary," he whispered. "We have to go to the infirmary, and we have to tell Allura."

The panic that followed, Keith couldn't explain. "Don't tell Allura, Shiro. Don't tell the princess. She'll— You don't know what she'll do if she finds out. She could put you in a pod and…"

" _Don't_ protect me when you can't even protect yourself from me. If that's what she does, then fine. You're the last person I—" Shiro's voice broke and Keith's eyes rimmed with tears again. "You're the last person I can let myself…"

… _kill._

Keith stood and strode toward his Bayard with the searing ache returning to his throat. Instead of answering Shiro's defense, he gazed at his weapon. He furrowed his brow, enraged by his inability to protect Shiro from himself. He wiped up the snot pooling along his Cupid's bow and opened his mouth.

"I love you," Keith tried, sounding weak in his last ditch effort.

Shiro smacked his palm against the reader, and though he stopped short, he said nothing before disappearing into the dark hallway.


End file.
